The Fall of Haringa

The Palace lounge was possibly the most expensive room in the whole nation of Haringa. It was built with real stone from the mountains far South, giving it a pale pink complexion that stood in stark contrast to the dull parauri sandstone city that sprawled out around the Palace. The room itself was adorned with soft pillows of red and gold silk, and tables made of mirror-polished wood from the Eastern Rakau Orchard. However despite the fine furnishings of the room, a thick air of anxiety surrounded the royal heirs of High King Runoko as they were fussed over and plucked at by the many servants of the palace. The oldest of the four heirs was Tarn, a tall boy with a mop of curly black hair the servants had desperately tried to control, to no avail. He wore a cascading cloth gown of red and black patterns that stretched down to his knees, clearly marking him as the first born son. Yet despite the grand garb, his young face still naively expressed his anxiety as a nervous eye darted over to the balcony of the palace that overlooked the hanging gardens. It was typically relaxing, to be able to sit on the wide balcony and look over the grand halls. Walls 30ft high and adorned with plants of every size and shape; trees the size of pillars; terraces overflowing with fruit-bearing bushes; and the sweet aroma of blooming flowers. All of this: ruined and spoiled by the mass of people bustling and crowding in the halls of the garden to try and get a look at the balcony to see Tarn’s father. Oh how he hated being anywhere near this many people, seeing them all look at him, judge him, and having to be perfect for them. He hated it all…but he hated that man even more. His eyes darted over to the side of the balcony where a figure was already sitting, seemingly unfazed by the huge crowd that had come to see his ‘masterpiece’. Why did father have to let him sit up here with the rest of the family? Tarn’s face turned to a scowl without an ounce of effort as he stared at the back of the silhouetted man’s head. His brooding was cut short by Itara carefully picking a white dog hair off the dark cloak that swamped Tarn’s body. “Why the long face, Prince?” He met her eyes, his attention instantly arrested by her familiar face and held there for a long moment before he gathered himself hurriedly, puffing out his chest to stand up as straight as he could. “Me? No! I was just…” He coughed into his fist nervously, looking around the room to see if anyone else was paying attention to him. “I was just looking at all the people that had come, there’s surely over half the City here, no?”

“Well probably, but it looks like all sorts of people from all across the island have come to see you and your father this afternoon, not just people from the city.” She paused and smiled a knowing smile at him, her soft eyes melting his fear away as her hands stopped fussing over him and rested on his chest. “Besides, you only have to sit there and look pretty while your father does the talking. Then you can get out of these stuffy robes and go back to Sito and Sobat.” Tarn chuckled and looked down at her, catching his reflection in her dark brown eyes for a moment before blinking away the thoughts swirling in his mind. “Good old Sito and Sobat. They miss you terribly, I'm sure. Perhaps you should come to help me walk them later?” He paused briefly as a smile creeped its way onto his face in spite of his best efforts. “Maybe after everything has settled down here… we could meet near the River?”

“You mean, where we met yesterday?”

“Of course! At dusk though, I couldn't stand being around anyone else today”

“Very good your highness, is there anything else?” She stepped back briskly, hands behind her back, and bowing her head in one fluid motion. Tarn inexplicably felt two cold spots on his chest where her hands were. He raised his hand slightly to reach for her, but was stopped by the shock of a heavy hand thudding down on his shoulder. His father.

High King Runoko was dressed in the finest clothes Tarn had seen him wear. He donned a green cloth shirt that stuck to his broad figure and was sealed with 5 strained white bead buttons. Over the shirt he wore a flowing golden gown of thin silk that drifted behind him as he walked, falling gently to his sides as he stopped next to Tarn, taking his son by the shoulder. “That is all, thank you. My boy looks Perfect for our big day” Why does everyone keep saying it’s ours? I’d have nothing to do with that big ugly tower. I’d have never built it if it was ‘our’ choice, but it’s not. It’s theirs… Tarn again gazed into the back of the man's head as if he was trying to read his thoughts. “Come now Tarn, a prince should never keep such a sour look on his face.” The king looked down at Tarn with a silent raised eyebrow as if to tell him he should know better, but without interrupting the stern, cutting voice of his mother that silenced the room in a sweep. “Right Children. Remember what we told you, and try your best to not straighten your silks at all. Come now, let's go.” She beckoned the other three children over to where she took up her spot at the side of the king, patting at her long golden robe. With a huff, the Queen straightened up, and as the scurrying footsteps of the servants faded down the corridor, the royal family were left in silence. The man on the balcony rose to his feet and Tarn hoped desperately he would leave like the other servants: but of course, he didn’t. Instead he stood ready, waiting for the Royalty Of Haringa to take their seats next to him.

“Just wait…” Tarn chuckled as Sobat excitedly jumped up at him, anxious to run along the path that lay ahead of him. “I know you love this walk, but we have to wait for Itara!” His chuckle burst into a full-fledged laugh that was swept up by the warm wind of twilight, knocking a clump of his hair into his face as Sobat spun on the spot once, ears pricking straight up and eyes darting around in search of something or other. He paused briefly to sniff the air before following the scent around the corner Tarn came from, and disappearing with his nose to the ground.

What a silly hound Tarn pondered as he watched Sobat trot out of sight, then leaning down to where Sito, the older of the two dogs, was sat. “Not like you though, eh? You’re a noble hound aren't you? All proper and royal…” He slipped into the worst impression of his father he could manage, stroking and fussing over Sito, who was quite indifferent to the situation. “This nation was built from nothing! Our people were cast from the same material as any other beast of the forest, plains, hills, and mountains…” he waggled a pompuce finger in front of Sito’s grey muzzle, tracing the same lines in the air as his father. “But it is our Pride! Our Intelligence and Cunning! Our godly right to better those animals of the land, and out of it forge a nation the likes of which this world has never seen!” Wobbling his head side to side satirically as he talked, Tarn felt a pang of sadness and anger as he thought back to the speech that afternoon, recalling what his father said next; his tone lowering and the dramatic flair to its delivery fading “Men like this, and accomplishments like That! Those are what have brought us together throughout our history. We are champions of…”

“Champions of innovation and each of us kings of the world!” Interrupted Itara’s raised voice, completing the end of the King’s afternoon speech. He looked over and saw her walking towards him, Sobat sprinting past her to stand at the mouth of the path impatiently. Tarn let his shoulders fall and smiled at her as she let down her indignant pose and walked towards him, passing right by his shoulder and kneeling down in front of Sito. Tarn ran a hand backwards through his hair as he looked down at Itara and the dogs with the vague realisation that he felt safest around a pair of animals and a servant girl. “Well it’s good to know where your priorities are…” But she is so much more than that. Tarn's head began to swirl the same way it always did when he thought about her. She was so much more than just one of the thousand helping hands around the palace that brushed by unnoticed and silent. But only to him. To everyone else she was just that, unnoticed. “Hush Sito, he doesn't mean it. He’s just jealous.” She wrapped her hands around his ears with a pout at Tarn “You should know by now that I only come on these walks for them. It has nothing to do with the charming young prince who swoons all that cross his path.” Tarn scoffed at the notion,

“I couldn't charm a greedy merchant if I had a hand of gold! I couldn't charm a dung beetle with a handful of Sobat’s poha!” Itara threw her head back in laughter as the prince spoke on, finally rising to her feet with a deep sigh. “Ohh Tarn, how blind can a boy be?”

“Why would I keep going on these evening walks if not for the view?” He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow, holding out a bent elbow at his side. “For me?” she strolled up next to him, slipping her arm comfortably into his. “For the dogs.”

The path was barely ever used by travellers because all it led to was a small rocky beach, and a clearing in the landscape that overlooked it. Tarn and Itara had found the path together long ago, spending many of their evenings and hot afternoons relaxing out of sight from any judging eyes. The path itself ran along the side of a small hill not far from the high coastline, the golden sun just dipping below the horizon, bathing the coast in its fleeting rays of orange, yellow, and green. Green? Tarn’s eyes narrowed as he gazed out across the vast expanse of sea in front of them, searching for what had shone green for that brief second. Again, his eyes caught the bright green flare for a brief moment before it disappeared. It was an odd shade of green he hadn't seen before. It wasn’t green like grass, flax, kakari, or any other of the plants in the hanging gardens. It was sharp and vivid, almost closer to yellow than green. “Given up?” Itara’s voice broke his concentration, but he focused his gaze again to try and find the origin of the light. “It was your sister, Daer. How can you be so rubbish at…”

“I'm just looking at something. Something green keeps shining in my eyes but I can’t see where it’s coming from…”

“Oh? Well what kind of green is it? And you think you saw it from the ocean?”

“I Did see it from the ocean. And it’s an odd shade…something I’ve never seen before.”

“Well are you sure it’s from the ocean and not that thing down there?” She drew his attention down to the secret beach in the distance below, and Tarn saw it. Three figures moving something around on the rocky shore of the beach. “Two of those figures look huge, even from here!” Chimed Itara.

“It looks like they came in on a real boat, not some dugout wakai.”

“So? You think they might be dangerous people?”

“If not dangerous, then powerful. And look at whatever it is they’re moving…it looks massive.”

“It looks like it could be a bell?”

“Where would anyone get a bell that size from? No one would be able to make a bell like that without it being news all over the city!” As Tarn darted his hands in all the different motions of his brain, he looked up and saw the smug look on Itara’s face. “What?” He asked with furrowed brows. “You think nobody could make a bell like that on the island?”

“No!...Yeah!...They couldn't do it secretly, no.”

“And they’ve come in on a boat?”

“Yes?”

“Sooooo…?” Itara saw as the click went off in his brain, and with a grin looked back to the beach. She saw as the three figures were now only two and what looked like a bell standing on the beach while the third, smaller man, was halfway out the bay on his sloop. “So you reckon they’re from outside the island?”

“You said it yourself prince. They must be.”

“All the more reason to mind our own business then, let's get going and just forget about this?”

“And ignore the fact that three people have just landed by boat on our shore in a secret beach nobody knows about except us?” Tarn paused for a moment after she spoke, biting his bottom lip as he stared at the two figures slowly moving towards the exit to the beach. “How could we tell someone though? We can’t just wander into the palace and say we happened to see this!”

“You can.”

“No, Itara, I cannot. If I tell them how far from the city I’ve wondered, I won't be allowed out past midday ever again!” They both paused for a second, staring at nothing in the silence of the long moment. Tarn huffed quietly and stood, extending his hand to Itara. “Let’s just leave it and go. It’ll be sorted out by morning.”

“SIRE! SIRE! WAKE UP SIRE, LOOK!” Tarn jolted awake at the sound of Miss Miara’s shrill voice down the hall, immediately stretching up to peer out the small window by his bed. As his eyes focused, he saw two hulking figures trudging through the wide street, dwarfing it with their size; and carrying with them a bell larger than most of the homes it passed by. Tarn sat there, shocked into silence until another shrill cry from the head housekeeper snapped him back into reality. He immediately threw on his dirty clothes scattered on the floor, and sprinted down the stairs 2,3,4-a-stride, closer to a tumble than a sprint. He burst into the entrance of the palace and out the grand front doors, only to find himself swamped in a sea of people all bustling and crowding to get a look at the two Ogres that were making their way slowly towards the town’s centre. Tarn turned around, desperately looking for someone he knew. So many people. Too many people. “Father! Farther?” His voice was almost silent in the crowd of people, lost in the thousands around him. A hand from nowhere grabbed him, holding him by his scruffy shirt and pulling him away from the main market road towards a side lane. He spun around to face the person, and saw Itara. “What are you doing, I thought I was getting…”

“Tarn!” He silenced immediately at the rise of her voice. “I know where your father went.” He nodded in agreement, and the two of them climbed onto a stack of crates piled next to a small sandstone hut, then onto its roof. Here Tarn could properly see the two Ogres walking through the city. They were at least another half as tall as any other man Tarn had seen, their size emphasised by their bulging bellies, round faces, and thick forearms that strained with the effort of dragging the bell behind them. Tarn noticed one of them had an inflated and fat nose too big for his face, and faintly wheezed with every thick breath it made. This was still far better than the other, who had no nose at all. Just an indented cavity of pink, scarred skin where it clearly once sat. They were dressed in thick furs and leather the likes of which Tarn had never seen, a view shared by most of the population looking upon the horrific beings. The bell itself was almost as terrifying as them in its enormity. If it stood upright it could fit around most of the houses in the streets surrounding it, and as the two ‘men’ dragged the bell, it swung the rooftop signs around on their hinges. It seemed to be made from bronze, earthy and dark in complexion but polished to perfection and engraved with harsh, angular runes all over. The outstanding feature of the bell however was two bands of bright green metal at the flanged bottom, and halfway up. The two giants were pulling the bell right through the centre of town, amassing a crowd of thousands in the streets. “Where did you say my father was?”

“He has gone to speak with Madris.” Itara spoke through steady breaths as the two of them darted over raised houses and walls to keep pace with the giants and stay above the crowd.

“What does he want with him? He’d promised me the speech was the last time I’d have to see Madris!”

“Believe it or not Tarn, your father’s word isn’t gospel. There was a part of the deal your father failed to tell anyone. He had agreed that as part of the payment, Madris could mount a bell at the top of the tower. I just don’t think this is quite what he expected.” Tarn swore under his breath, lifting his head and slowing slightly to look up at the crowning centre of Haringa’s capital city. He had tried ignoring the tower as best he could throughout its construction and subsequent celebration, but now he had to stare at it in all its glory. His eyes naturally floated to the top of the tower; a large domed cupola that stood on four pillars at each compass point; raised up by a a five-sided column of pristine white marble; which in turn arose from the tall rectangle base of the tower; at the doors of which Tarn saw his father, surrounded by his best guards, arguing with Madris. He climbed down off the rooftop, extending his hand to Itara who stood motionless. “What are you doing? Come on!”

“No, I can’t. I’m just…”

“I need you Itara.” His eyes were steel, and his will iron. He jumped up and grabbed her by the hand, leading her down the side of the building and across the open space to his father; his hand still firmly clutching hers. “You must put a stop to this at once! This is not what we agreed.” Boomed King Runoko’s voice across the rapidly-filling plaza at the base of the tower. Madris retorted in the same tone he always spoke in, the tone that sent shivers down Tarn’s spine and never failed to put him on edge. “You Agreed To My Conditions, King. I Am Simply Here To Fulfil Them”. All eyes turned to the monsters as they crossed the threshold into the plaza, lurching their way forwards toward the double-doors of the tower. “I Would Step Back Majesty, Lest You’re Forced To.” A pregnant moment lingered. Weapons were clutched, and eyes narrowed. Waiting for the verdict. The King stepped back and out of the way of the door, allowing the bell and their carriers through. “A Wise Choice My Liege” Madris bowed with a flourish and grin while The King turned around and began to walk away, a look of thunder across his face. Tarn remained for a moment, gawping wide-eyed as the two monsters ducked through the large double doors. As they shut, Tarn let loose Itara’s hand, flying into the mass of people behind him and disappearing from her sight completely, bumping, nudging, and knocking anyone in his way as he did. He barged his way through the back ranks of his father’s guard and grabbed The King by his shoulders, spinning him so they were face to face. “This cannot be father? You would just leave, after Madris’ disrespect?”

“Listen Boy, you know noth…” Tarn saw as his father’s face dropped completely, his thunderous voice silenced, and his eyes slowly watching something high above Tarn. Slowly he turned to watch as a great wooden mallet wielded by one of the Ogres slammed into the side of the bell. As the mallet struck the huge bell, the many thousands watching expected a ring, or a dong, or some kind of metallic sound: as bells normally make. Instead the crowd heard what could only be described as an ear-splitting, and stomach-wrenching wail from something that could never have been human. A sound that drove the mass of people below into a frenzy. An old man threw himself into Tarn trying to escape somewhere, knocking them both to the ground. He felt the air pushed out of him as his back hit the hard stone ground, and the weight of the man collapsed on him. Their eyes met for a moment before the man spun his head around frantically, crawling up off the floor and barrelling into another person, again collapsing. Tarn saw as red began to leak from the man’s head, and he didn't get up. He stared for a second, the world seemingly in slow motion as the crowd tore itself apart in its frenzy, and he looked as the people around him - normal, good people - were changing in front of his eyes. Their hair began spreading, any visible part of their body quickly becoming overgrown with matted and shaggy fur; their eyes widened in horror and pain, the colour fading to black completely, and tiny specs of red appearing as their pupil; their fingers stretching and contorting, claws stabbing their way to the surface through knuckle and nail; their faces stretching and growing, mutating into rat-like features and protruding front teeth; and their legs, shortening and hunching over, bending in places a human legs shouldn't. Tarn was roughly lifted to his feet, still staring in horror at the cataclysmic scene around him. He mumbled something vaguely before being hoisted across the shoulders of one of the guards, and carried away from the crowd. Tarn was carried past the palace where his father and some guards ran into, and all the way down to the harbour; mumbling and murmuring all the way, shell-shocked by the scenes at the base of the tower. He was hastily lowered onto the wooden deck of a boat, devoid eyes staring blankly up at the sky, the top of the tower just poking into his vision. He covered his eyes with both hands, trying to block out any memory of what had happened, but instead discovering his face was covered with a hot, sticky liquid. He pulled his hands away slowly and saw them completely covered in blood. Is it mine? Is it not? He didn’t know which was worse. His mind went from the verge of unconsciousness to spinning too fast for him to handle. He rushed to get up, but stumbled and fell onto the side of the boat, knocking his head hard. He looked up at the rolling clouds of grey, and as the gentle pattering of rain began to fall, he muttered the only thing his mind could muster. “Itara?”